good in this sort of life. Haven’t got the manners for it. I’m a rough fellow, no use in society.
Never remember the things one’s expected to say. Yes, time I went.’ ‘But you’re not going at once,’ cried Flora. ‘No - not while we’re in all this trouble. Oh! please. If you go ‘ She turned away a little.
‘You want me to stay?’ asked Blunt.
He spoke deliberately but quite simply.
‘We all-’ ‘I meant you personally,’ said Blunt, with directness.
Flora turned slowly back again and met his eyes.
‘I want you to stay,’ she said, ‘if - if that makes any difference.’ ‘It makes all the difference,’ said Blunt.
There was a moment’s silence. They sat down on the stone seat by the goldfish pond. It seemed as though neither °f them knew quite what to say next.
‘It - it’s such a lovely morning,’ said Flora at last. ‘You know, I can’t help feeling happy, in spite - in spite of everything. That’s awful, I suppose?’ ‘Quite natural,’ said Blunt. ‘Never saw your uncle until two years ago, did you? Can’t be expected to grieve very much. Much better to have no humbug about it.’ ‘There’s something awfully consoling about you,’ said Flora. ‘You make things seems so simple.’ ‘Things are simple as a rule,’ said the big-game hunter.
‘Not always,’ said Flora.
Her voice had lowered itself, and I saw Blunt turn and look at her, bringing his eyes back from (apparently) the coast of Africa to do so. He evidently put his own construction on her change of tone, for he said, after a minute or two, in rather an abrupt manner: ‘I say, you know, you mustn’t worry. About that young chap, I mean. Inspector’s an ass. Everybody knows utterly absurd to think he could have done it. Man from outside. Burglar chap. That’s the only possible solution.’ Flora turned to look at him.
‘You really think so?’ ‘Don’t you?’ said Blunt quickly.
‘I - oh, yes, of course.’ Another silence, and then Flora burst out: ‘I’m - I’ll tell you why I felt so happy this morning.
However heartless you think me, I’d rather tell you. It’s because the lawyer has been - Mr Hammond. He told us about the will. Uncle Roger has left me twenty thousand pounds. Think of it - twenty thousand beautiful pounds.’ Blunt looked surprised.
‘Does it mean so much to you?’ ‘Mean much to me? Why, it’s everything. Freedom - life - no more scheming and scraping and lying ‘ ‘Lying?’ said Blunt, sharply interrupting.
Flora seemed taken aback for a minute.
‘You know what I mean,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Pretending to be thankful for all the nasty cast-off things rich relations give you. Last year’s coat and skirts and hats.’ ‘Don’t know much about ladies’ clothes; should have said you were always very well turned out.’ ‘It cost me something, though,’ said Flora in a low voice.
‘Don’t let’s talk of horrid things. I’m so happy. I’m free.
Free to do what I like. Free not to ‘ She stopped suddenly.
‘Not to what?’ asked Blunt quickly.
‘I forget now. Nothing important.’ Blunt had a stick in his hand, and he thrust it into the pond, poking at something.
‘What are you doing. Major Blunt?’ ‘There’s something bright down there. Wondered what it was - looks like a gold brooch. Now I’ve stirred up the mud and it’s gone.’ ‘Perhaps it’s a crown,’ suggested Flora. ‘Like the one Melisande saw in the water.’ ‘Melisande,’ said Blunt reflectively - ‘she’s in an opera, isn’t she?’ ‘Yes, you seem to know a lot about operas.’ ‘People take me sometimes,’ said Blunt sadly. ‘Funny idea of pleasure - worse racket than the natives make with their tom-toms.’ Flora laughed.
‘I remember Melisande,’ continued Blunt, ‘married an old chap old enough to be her father.’ He threw a small piece of flint into the goldfish pond.
Then, with a change of manner, he turned to Flora.
‘Miss Ackroyd, can I do
Never remember the things one’s expected to say. Yes, time I went.’ ‘But you’re not going at once,’ cried Flora. ‘No - not while we’re in all this trouble. Oh! please. If you go ‘ She turned away a little.
‘You want me to stay?’ asked Blunt.
He spoke deliberately but quite simply.
‘We all-’ ‘I meant you personally,’ said Blunt, with directness.
Flora turned slowly back again and met his eyes.
‘I want you to stay,’ she said, ‘if - if that makes any difference.’ ‘It makes all the difference,’ said Blunt.
There was a moment’s silence. They sat down on the stone seat by the goldfish pond. It seemed as though neither °f them knew quite what to say next.
‘It - it’s such a lovely morning,’ said Flora at last. ‘You know, I can’t help feeling happy, in spite - in spite of everything. That’s awful, I suppose?’ ‘Quite natural,’ said Blunt. ‘Never saw your uncle until two years ago, did you? Can’t be expected to grieve very much. Much better to have no humbug about it.’ ‘There’s something awfully consoling about you,’ said Flora. ‘You make things seems so simple.’ ‘Things are simple as a rule,’ said the big-game hunter.
‘Not always,’ said Flora.
Her voice had lowered itself, and I saw Blunt turn and look at her, bringing his eyes back from (apparently) the coast of Africa to do so. He evidently put his own construction on her change of tone, for he said, after a minute or two, in rather an abrupt manner: ‘I say, you know, you mustn’t worry. About that young chap, I mean. Inspector’s an ass. Everybody knows utterly absurd to think he could have done it. Man from outside. Burglar chap. That’s the only possible solution.’ Flora turned to look at him.
‘You really think so?’ ‘Don’t you?’ said Blunt quickly.
‘I - oh, yes, of course.’ Another silence, and then Flora burst out: ‘I’m - I’ll tell you why I felt so happy this morning.
However heartless you think me, I’d rather tell you. It’s because the lawyer has been - Mr Hammond. He told us about the will. Uncle Roger has left me twenty thousand pounds. Think of it - twenty thousand beautiful pounds.’ Blunt looked surprised.
‘Does it mean so much to you?’ ‘Mean much to me? Why, it’s everything. Freedom - life - no more scheming and scraping and lying ‘ ‘Lying?’ said Blunt, sharply interrupting.
Flora seemed taken aback for a minute.
‘You know what I mean,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Pretending to be thankful for all the nasty cast-off things rich relations give you. Last year’s coat and skirts and hats.’ ‘Don’t know much about ladies’ clothes; should have said you were always very well turned out.’ ‘It cost me something, though,’ said Flora in a low voice.
‘Don’t let’s talk of horrid things. I’m so happy. I’m free.
Free to do what I like. Free not to ‘ She stopped suddenly.
‘Not to what?’ asked Blunt quickly.
‘I forget now. Nothing important.’ Blunt had a stick in his hand, and he thrust it into the pond, poking at something.
‘What are you doing. Major Blunt?’ ‘There’s something bright down there. Wondered what it was - looks like a gold brooch. Now I’ve stirred up the mud and it’s gone.’ ‘Perhaps it’s a crown,’ suggested Flora. ‘Like the one Melisande saw in the water.’ ‘Melisande,’ said Blunt reflectively - ‘she’s in an opera, isn’t she?’ ‘Yes, you seem to know a lot about operas.’ ‘People take me sometimes,’ said Blunt sadly. ‘Funny idea of pleasure - worse racket than the natives make with their tom-toms.’ Flora laughed.
‘I remember Melisande,’ continued Blunt, ‘married an old chap old enough to be her father.’ He threw a small piece of flint into the goldfish pond.
Then, with a change of manner, he turned to Flora.
‘Miss Ackroyd, can I do
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